The Fall of Westeros
by RhaegarTargaryen666
Summary: Making Bran king has only set Westeros up for more chaos, more unrest, and potentially another war. Dorne and the Iron Islands declare independence, the Reach squabbles over the rightful heir to Highgarden, the other Starks encounter problems of their own while Drogon takes Dany to the lands furthest east. How can the Small Council keep the peace when they've already lost so much?
1. Chapter 1: Bran

**(Author's Note: This is set in the showverse, with some references to the books, A World of Ice and Fire, and Fire and Blood when I get to it. This is not a fanfic, this is a hatefic to the last season of what used to be my favourite TV show. This fic demonstrates the consequences of all the stupid things in the finale.**

**I'm using PoV chapters, in true GRRM fashion. It's my first time writing like this, if you think it sucks, please, feel free to say so. I am accepting all kinds of criticism.)**

Bran was having trouble warging. He could see well enough; his vision was clear as crystal, but he couldn't control where Drogon went. All he could do was watch, as the dragon flew further and further east, past the Narrow Sea and the Free Cities. Everything had gone by so quickly, and Drogon showed no indication of slowing down. It was lucky he had access to the dragon's sense of vision, while he warged. Dragons had much better eyesight than any First Man, Andal, Rhoynar or even Valyrian, if Bran had to use his own eyes, even when he was "possessing" Drogon, blurs of colour flashing by would be all he could see.

Drogon flew past the Dothraki sea, then went south, past Yi Ti and the Jade Sea. And then the waters began to darken, as did the skies, until everything was as black as the wings of Three Eyed Raven of his past dreams. But eventually, Bran could make out pale orange lights, and as the lights got clearer and clearer, he saw outlines of towers with domed tops. Some of them, he found out reminded him of Dragonstone, for their towers were topped with statues of dragons, made of the same black stone that was everywhere.

Drogon slowed down a bit when they arrived at a port. There were a few ships parked, with people covered in black cloaks entering and leaving them. The dragon ignored them, but the cloaked men did not return the favour. They turned around for a peek of the last dragon carrying its mother. Thanks to the dragon's superior sense of hearing, Bran was able to make out what some of them whispered to each other.

"…So it's true."

"…Hard to believe, isn't it?"

"…She was supposed to be Prince that was Promised, and now…"

"…Dead but not gone..."

"…Even in death she has her uses. Kingsblood can work miracles, and Valyrian kingsblood, I can't even imagine…"

The people on the black stone streets were few, and most of those present were cloaked as well. The ones who weren't were in black palanquins carried by slaves, masked and covered in black. They too, craned their necks for a glance at Drogon, who was now flying north. This journey however, was much, much shorter than the one he'd just taken across the known world. He stopped at a particularly tall tower, with a dragon sitting atop it. Dragon heads decorated the tower walls, and now that Bran was only a few feet away, he could see fires in their black eye socks, creating an effect that made the orange flames resemble eyes from afar.

In front of a huge window with a gothic, sharp arch, Drogon roared loudy. The woman who came to the window reminded Bran of Melisandre, with her red hair and dress, and collar which held a bright red ruby at the centre. But what set her apart from Melisandre were her piercing green eyes.

Bran felt uneasy. It was like meeting someone who looked perfectly normal but somehow you still felt something was off. That was him now, when her eyes penetrated his, he got the feeling she was looking into his soul and retrieving his secrets. All of a sudden, an intrusive thought entered him, and he got the feeling she was seeing through his thoughts.

_But that's impossible!_

Her gaze grew cold. "Away with you," she commanded.

And then his eyes flew open. He stared at the white canopy of his huge four poster bed. Bright rays of sunlight were there. His grey eyes panned over to the large window. The skies were outside were a summery blue, with a few fluffy white clouds in sight. He then looked over to the grandfather clock across the room. It was nearly noon.

"Podrick!" he yelled.

Immediately, Podrick came, dressed in shining steel armour. "What is it, Your Grace?"

"Help me into my wheelchair," Bran ordered. "Then take me to the Tower of the Hand."

"Not going to have breakfast, Your Grace?"

"No, urgent matters await."

* * *

Bran wanted to start the meeting as soon as the other members of the Small Council arrived, but that was not so, for Tyrion carried two small scrolls made of parchment as he strolled in. The half-man gave them to Bran before he took his seat. Bran quickly read through both, his eyes darting back and forth as he did so.

"Dorne and the Iron Islands have both declared independence," he announced.

"Not only that, I received a raven from the Reach," Samwell added, then glanced nervously at Bronn. "They won't accept a sellsword as the Lord of Highgarden…in fact, House Florent and House Hightower have laid their claims."

"Fuck them both," Bronn replied.

Tyrion raised his eyebrows at Bronn's casual, nonchalant response. "You should know, House Florent has the best blood claim, they boast of descent from the male line of House Gardner. House Hightower on the other hand, has the gold to back their claim, and as we all know, gold wins wars."

Bronn rolled his eyes, obviously bored with the history lesson despite its importance. "What about us? What do we have?"

"The men from the Vale are the only ones we can call on," Davos answered. "The other Kingdoms don't have much of an army left. Not after these wars. The Unsullied have sailed to Naath, and the Dothraki…they only agreed to retreat when we bribed them with what's left of Cersei's gold."

"Sailed to Naath, what a stupid death sentence," Tyrion muttered.

"We can't hire sellswords then?" Bronn asked.

"We'll have to borrow from the Iron Bank," Davos said.

"Last I checked, the Crown was millions in debt with them," Tyrion pointed out.

"A few million more won't hurt," Davos said.

While they murmured in agreement, Bran took the opportunity to say what he'd wanted to since waking up. "I saw the dragon. In my sleep. He's flying to Asshai."

The Small Council fell silent. Despite being aware that he had magical powers, none of them understood how they worked. How could they? They were neither First Men nor Valyrian. Until very recently, magic was as real as grumpkins and snarks to them. They'd only seen a glimpse of it with the White Walkers and the dragons, they hadn't dealt in it the way he had. Of course they wouldn't know how to react.

Finally, Davos spoke up. "I don't like the sound of that. Nothing good can come from the shadowbinders of Asshai."

He was no doubt remembering all the pain and death Melisandre brought with her from the Shadow Lands.

Bronn scoffed stupidly. "As long as they don't come here, who cares."

Bran ignored him, as did everyone else. "Lord Davos is right. I'll try to…_warg_ into him. See if I can redirect him somewhere else. You can leave now."

It felt so strange, saying "warg," in front of the southerners who used to mock his own people for believing the White Walkers still existed. The rest of the Small Council quickly excused themselves. None of them wanted to be around Bran when his eyed rolled back and his pupils disappeared. They were like Littlefinger and Sansa. Even though they picked him to be king, they still found him creepy at times.

Bran concentrated. He projected his spirit far, far away, further than he ever did, but nothing happened. He forced himself, straining and straining, until beads of sweat rolled down his face and neck. But eventually he could see himself, though his vision wasn't as clear as it had been in his dream. It was blurry. He couldn't see the orange flames anymore, just vague black shapes. He tried again, but this time he couldn't force his vision to come into focus, in fact, it didn't work at all. At this point, he might as well forget about controlling Drogon.

Bran was forced to eject his sprit, and when he was himself again, he found himself frustratingly wishing the Three Eyed Raven was here. He'd have an answer right away. But wishing for it did not make it so, and Bran had to instead look through the old memories his master had given him. They played in his head like a moving pictures. He saw Aegon the Conqueror, with his broad shoulders and handsome square jaw, silver hair and eyes like violet, and his sisters Visenya, with her sharp cheekbones and Rhaenys with her doe eyes and softer features. Both of them had Aegon's colouring, as did their children and descendants. There was Maegor, Aenys, Jaehaerys, Viserys, and the Greens and Blacks of the Dance.

Suddenly it hit him like a punch to the nose. All of them were silver-haired and violet-eyed, for they were the blood of Old Valyria, even the dragonseeds who'd fought for Rhaenyra. Bran might be a skinchanger; he might be able to warg into a dragon, but he'd never be able to control them.

_They're fire, _Bran realised. _And I'm not. I'm of the North, of the First Men. What now? _

**A few things: the reason Bran can't control Drogon is because it's already established only those with the blood of Old Valyria can control them, and Bran isn't Valyrian. Some people thought when the Three Eyed Raven told him he'd fly, he meant Bran would warg into a dragon. I never thought that, I always saw the logistical problems, I did however, expect him to warg into the blue eyes wight dragon the Night's King had, it was more ice than fire, so Bran would have an easier time with that. What a missed opportunity. We could've had Bran warging into an icy version of Viserion then he could've turned Viserion against the Night's King but no, instead of doing anything, Bran spent the entire Battle of Winterfell doing nothing. **

**Bronn acts like an idiot throughout the whole council meeting because I still don't buy it. He would be the worst Master of Coin ever, a few seasons ago, he didn't even understand how borrowing money and debts worked, and I doubt he spent any time reading up on economics. I guess D&D kind of forgot that Bronn was a lowborn sellsword. Too bad he gave up on Lollys and House Stokeworth's castle, that was the best he would've gotten. I still think it's bullshit he's made Lord of Highgarden, so I wrote the realistic reaction for the other lords. **

**I fixed some other stuff too, like the Dothraki. All of them became Dany's bloodriders, and when the Khal or in this case Khaleesi dies, the bloodriders are supposed to avenge him/her then kill themselves. I tried to handwave the reason they didn't is because the Small Council bribed them off, the way the Magisters of the Free Cities did. Tyrion's comment about the Unsullied dying in Naath is because there's a Naathi disease called butterfly fever that outsiders get. Actual Naathi are immune to it, they're probably carriers like Typhoid Mary. I don't see anything about Grey Worm and the others being Naathi, so I'm assuming they'll die.**

**Dorne and the Iron Islands leaving the Seven Kingdoms makes sense. The former was always more independent. They only came into Westeros thanks to Daeron II marrying Princess Daenerys, his sister to Prince Maron Martell, they hated Robert's rule because Robert's rebellion caused the death of Elia Martell, and her kids. They allied with Daenerys out of revenge, now that she's dead, it makes sense for them to leave. The latter was promised independence too by Dany, so their declaration makes sense as well. **

**I'll go more into what happens to Dany in the next chapter, if you're active in fan communities, I think you know ;) **

**If not, then I think you'll love it, especially if you're a Dany fan or if you think she got unfairly screwed by D&D. I was going to write a Sansa PoV for chapter 2, but what happens to Dany seems like a more interesting topic to tackle. **

**I'll go into Sansa's PoV sometime, and I'll show how stupid it was the Starks split up. I guess Ned's words about how the lone wolf dies but the pack survives meant nothing.**


	2. Chapter 2: Daenerys

Kinvara placed the dead khaleesi's body onto the cold black floor, just a couple of feet away from the altar to R'hllor. Under the chandelier of lit dragonglass candles, the red priestess was able to get a clear view.

Daenerys looked more like she was sleeping than dead. Her pale, peach coloured skin was clear and glowing as usual, almost like glass, due to its lack of blemishes and pores. Her long silver hair was flawlessly curled and braided, her clothes where in tact, except where Jon had stabbed her. She was beautiful as usual, and so peaceful too. She showed no signs of decay, as most corpses would.

Kinvara thought that was a little odd but at the moment she had no time to speculate, there were greater matters at hand. She went to the altar near the window. It too was made of black stone, with dragonglass candles in black holders at the left and right side and at the centre was a slab of black stone stained with black blood.

She began to utter a few words in Valyrian. "Lord of Light, show me your servant in Stygai."

The dragonglass candles were immediately alight, and through the flames, Kinvara could see a figure cloaked in black, her face hidden by a red lacquered mask. Now that she no longer used glamour to disguise herself, Kinvara had a clear view of her eyes. They were not purple like that of the Valyrians, but they were just as haunting, one of them was blue and the other was green.

"Quaithe."

"What a shame," the masked woman said. "She'd been destined for great things and now look at her, dead before her time."

"Indeed," Kinvara agreed. "Just like Rhaegar Targaryen. He would've gone on to do great things too, if only he hadn't died so soon."

There was a pause as both acknowledged the tragedy of the situation.

"Yet the Lord still has plans for her," Quaithe said. "Her corpse hasn't spoiled like it should have. She still bears his favour."

Kinvara's eyes slightly widened. _So that's why..._

"After all this time," Kinvara remarked. In her mind, she dwelled on the now dead dragon queen. She was born into rags despite having a good name, in an age where magic was long extinct, and yet against all odds, she'd managed to bring it back when she hatched her dragons. They'd been a gift from the Lord of Light, the Essosi had said so. When Viserion and Rhaegal died, and finally the queen herself, many would say the Lord was taking his gifts back, they'd tell themselves she'd lost his favour and disgraced herself. Kinvara didn't buy it. Perhaps it was intuition, perhaps it was something else, but she just knew, that couldn't be it, though she couldn't properly put her finger on the matter. Her eureka moment came when Quaithe mentioned her unnaturally pristine body.

"Yes," Quaithe said, interrupting her train if thought. "You know what they say about the Lord of Light. Many try to understand him. Many fail. He works in mysterious ways. His will cannot be understood so easily, only through intense study can one even begin to see the path he's set out."

"Indeed, you are right," Kinvara agreed. And Quaithe was better than her when it came to that. That was why she took orders from her.

Quaithe pointed to Dany's body. "His intentions for her have not changed. It's well past her time to learn the truth."

"It is decided then," Kinvara said. "She must be brought back, just like the Dragon's own son, the prince of ice and fire."

Quaithe nodded. "Yes. The Lord of Light wills it."

"I see," Kinvara said. "I must go then. The ritual must be done as soon as possible."

The flames died out.

* * *

Daenerys' body was stripped of all clothing, even her hair was let loose and her braids were untied. She was laid out underneath the starless black sky in the courtyard behind the tower. Surrounded her was a large circle made of bundled up sticks and outside of that another circle made of the same material.

Kinvara stood beside her in the inner circle. She ran her fingers down Dany's ample chest, right where the stab wound had been. She'd cleaned it, though it didn't seem to be necessary, for there was nothing indicating infection, and the bleeding was already staunched.

"My lady, I have the slave."

Kinvara looked up. It was a red apprentice, dressed in red just like her, though her hair was a pale silver, unlike Kinvara's own burgundy. Following the apprentice were three slave girls in collars, with chains connecting them. They were being lead, like animals by the apprentice.

"I got them from the markets, you asked for the ones from Lys, am I right?"

The red priestess eyed the children, as the apprentice led through the circle of sticks until they arrived in the inner circle. They were indeed perfect, with their pale skin, silver-gold hair and violet eyes. No doubt they were all of old Valyrian stock, from back when the dragonlords filled the city with their most beautiful, to create the perfect vacation spot. Now that Valyria was gone and her dragonlords dead, their once prized pleasure boys and girls became slaves. It was tragic how the mightiest had fallen so hard, but if one asked Kinvara for any silver lining she'd tell them that buying Valyrian slaves for magic rituals was easier than ever.

"Wait," Kinvara said to the apprentice. "Don't leave just yet. I need you to get the holy oil."

"The holy oil?"

"Yes," Kinvara repeated. "Blessed before the fires of R'hllor on the morning of the Dawn after the Long Night. You must've seen me do that at the red temple here. Fetch that."

The apprentice did as she was told, and when she returned with the oil, Kinvara commanded her to stay beside her.

"It's time you witnessed the ritual of life," she'd told the apprentice.

Kinvara poured the oil onto the inner circle of faggots, and then she stepped out and did the same to the outer one, before she returned and started chanting in High Valyrian. "Lord of Light, Lord of All, Master of the Dawn, Vanquisher of the darkness, Slayer of the Great Other. Hear our words. Before you are your most loyal servants here to offer an exchange. Death for life."

As if the Lord was right there beside them, the outer circle caught on fire immediately, and then it spread to the inner circle. In no time at all, the ritual circles became the brightest thing for miles underneath the black Asshai sky.

Kinvara continued. "Lord of Light, Light of the World, all Men are at your mercy, even those who've never heard your holy name. And mercy is what you've shown us, oh Protector of Men. Mercy and peace and prosperity to all Men, even to those who curse you. But to your followers, you blessed us with power most Men could not imagine."

As she spoke. the flames reacted. They became swirling round and round, faster and faster like the ocean's currents.

"To your priests and shadowbinders you gave knowledge," Kinvara went on. "And knowledge is power and you've given us the most valuable sort. Lord of Light, you bestowed upon us the knowledge of the most important magical rule, only death can pay for life."

It was the one thing they hammered into the minds of every shadowbinder in Asshai. And never had it rang more true than now, when she produced the dagger that killed Daenerys, and plunged it into the heart of the slaves. Loud piercing screams came from the girls followed by pure silence, as their bodies fell to the ground and blood gushed out like a river.

Kinvara spoke quickly. "It is known, the law of equivalent exchange. To create something, you must give something of equal value, for there must be balance in the world. Lord of Light, accept this sacrifice, and keep the balance. Jon Targaryen came back from death, Daenerys must do the same. Give us mercy, as you did before, to guide us. The night is dark and full of terrors. Let your fires burn eternally in your followers, let your shining light guide us, even those who spit upon your name, even such men who carry your wills without knowing. Let Daenerys Targaryen return. Let this be."

The circle of flaming faggots burned, the flames brighter and higher than before. And if that hadn't been enough, R'hollor made his presence more obvious when they moved faster, and faster, and while that happened, the blood that came out of the Lyseni slaves moved towards Dany's corpse, they flowed up her body, gathering where Jon had stabbed her. When all the blood finished migrating to Dany's body, the swirling flames steered into the circle. Within minutes, everything was covered in fire, aside from Dany, Kinvara and the apprentice.

The fires burned, for what seemed like hours. There was no dawn in Asshai, but by the time dawn came for every other country, there was nothing but ash left on the ground. Kinvara and the apprentice watched as a pair of violet eyes opened up.

"Welcome back," Kinvara said.

Daenerys sat up, at first confused, before her last memory flooded back. "Jon betrayed me. And the Imp and Sansa and the entire North. Everyone betrayed me. They _will_ pay, all of them."

Her voice was calm as usual, her expression was cold, but her Valyrian eyes possessed a look of absolute fury. If looks could kill, Kinvara and the apprentice would've dropped to the ground where they stood.

"In time," Kinvara promised.

Dany looked around. "Where's Drogon?"

"By now, I think he must be in the mountains of the Shadow Lands," Kinvara speculated. "I'm sure he's found some other dragons. But if you keep that up, he'll sense your distress and come."

Dany's eyes widened in surprise. "What?"

Kinvara smiled, it was a genuine, sincere one, she meant no ill will, but Dany still found it a little unsettling. "Knowledge is power, and there is so much you don't know, Daenerys Targaryen. Why do you think your ancestors, Aegon, Visenya and Rhaenys were so successful? They knew, they all knew the truth that's been suppressed by the Citadel. They all knew the truth of their heritage and their powers, they knew what they could do, and they trained until they were at their strongest. They harnessed their abilities and became invincible, as did their children until the end of the Dance. You could've been just like Aegon, had you chosen to come here, you would've learnt the true history of your people, you would've learnt how they used to fight, you would've learnt the true story of House Targaryen, and you would've unlocked your true potential, just like the Targaryens who came before you until Aegon Dragonsbane. But fear not, the Lord of Light gives second chances to many. You are being given one just now."

"What...what are you saying?"

"Alaena, get her cloak," Kinvara said, and the apprentice left at once. Then, she looked into Daenerys eyes, making the khaleesi gulp.

"You must stay in Asshai, before you journey to Stygai. There you will learn the truth about everything. To go west, you must travel east. To go forward you must go back and to touch the light you must pass beneath the Shadow. R'hllor wills it."


End file.
